thelongdormantcop | (no subject)

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grace faraday

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They wake up like this most mornings now, curled together, in one or the other's bed. Though it's been months now since they both got here, Jerry still finds that he has trouble getting used to it, despite the fact that he's pretty sure they've had just about as long, if not longer, in Darrow than they did sneaking around behind Cohen's back. He just never thought for a second, back then, that they'd get to have this. Hell, he wasn't even sure if she'd want it, no matter how logical it might have been. (It wouldn't have made sense, after all, for her to go to all that trouble and take all those risks if it were just about getting laid.) Now, even if they haven't exactly clarified what this is or what they're doing, it's at least a lot clearer now, when it couldn't have been before. That's what really matters to him.

It just makes it all the more breathtaking to wake up beside her, knowing that neither of them really has to rush off anywhere. Even on days when he has to get to the station, or when she's had work to get to, neither of them is as pressed to get out the door as she used to be, or even as he was when the squad started requiring so much of his time. They can have this now, no more hurrying to someone else or pretending like they don't wish things could be different. Strange as living in this city is, as much as there are aspects of it that he finds unsettling, even unlikable, what they've gotten in return is more than worth it. He worries more than he'd care to admit about what would have happened back in Los Angeles, but he isn't sure he'd trade this freedom for anything. They both did more than their share of fighting. They deserve the break they've gotten from that, he thinks.

Whatever else has changed, he still gets up early, too used to it not to, the sun slanting through the blinds drawn over his window. At his side, Grace is still asleep, or she looks like it, and he considers for a moment waking her, but he doesn't have the heart to. She looks too peaceful like this, too beautiful. Though he wouldn't know how to tell her so, he's long since thought that she looked best this way, without makeup, her hair a little mussed, not pretending in the slightest. Now is no exception. It keeps him from looking away from her as he starts to carefully draw himself away, not wanting to stir her, but figuring he might as well start breakfast or something. He doesn't get very far before he can't help reaching over, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, chest tight as he does. "I love you," he says, soft. It's been true for a long damn time now, he thinks, and maybe he wouldn't know how to tell her directly, but there's still something almost relieving in saying so, proof in itself that it's more than true. He's goddamn crazy about her, and he can't pretend otherwise.

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As far as Jerry's concerned, he's heard everything he needs to, anyway. There's no way to beat what she's said already, and when it feels this good to kiss her, his body pressed close to hers, he can't imagine that there's really anything repetition could do for him that this doesn't. Even though he finds himself with the same words on the tip of his tongue again, he just slides it against hers instead, eyes half-shut as he leans into the kiss, hips rocking down before he's thought about it. No matter how much time has passed, there's still a part of him that feels like he has to get as much as he can while it's possible. Right now, he doubts she'll mind. Fingers still entwined with hers, he lifts her hand, holding it to the mattress near the side of her head. The sooner he lets go of her, the sooner he can get undressed, but that's not happening yet.

Grace stifles a moan against his mouth, fingers lacing more tightly through his. It's early, her body still heavy with sleep; she wants him all the same, sure she's more than up to the task even so. "Jerry," she whispers, hips rolling against his in response, "Jerry..." When she's still riding high on the happiness of finally hearing those words, she has no desire to do anything but drag this out, take their time enjoying each other, but she still wants something. She can feel heat and pressure tugging at her, a need she has no reason to conceal. Whatever he wants from her, she'll gladly give, but kissing him just isn't enough. It serves only to make her desperate for something more.

At first, Jerry's only response is a stifled moan of his own, a response he can't help to the way her hips lift in turn. These days, winding up like this is more common than not, something normal for them rather than a rare occasion to make the most of, but he's never enjoyed being with her any less because of it. If anything, he enjoys it all the more, not having to worry about how much or how little time they have, not needing to be careful not to leave a mark anywhere on her, not thinking about someone else being in his position. It's just the two of them now. She loves him, and that means a hell of a lot more than he could ever begin to say. "Grace," he murmurs, as if in response, ducking his head to kiss along her jaw. "What do you want?" Right now, he thinks he'd do just about anything she asked, though that's hardly uncommon.

It's not an unusual question from Jerry. He's thoughtful with her, more so than the men she's slept with before; he actually gives a damn what she wants. She's not entirely convinced the others even thought she would know what to say if asked. But that's Jerry. Long before they could admit to anything they felt, he showed her more kindness and affection than anyone else. Still, however common the question, it's still heady to be asked, her eyes closing as she tips her head back, lashes fluttering, and tries to find an answer and her voice. "Jerry," she sighs, fingers curling in his hair. It's an answer in itself, really. As long as he's here, she'll take anything. It isn't as if he doesn't know what she likes anyway. "I — your mouth." It feels so good on her skin, and it's too early for her to want to leap right into anything else just yet.

As soon as she's spoken, Jerry nods, though it isn't much of a movement when he gets distracted so easily by kissing her again. It's the simplest goddamn thing, but even that, he can never get enough of with her, at least at times like this, when they can afford to be slow and lazy about it, to take as much of their time as they please. They might have some other obligations here, but it's not anything like it was before; she's all his (she loves him), and that's worth everything. Even so, he breaks away before too much longer, lips trailing along her jaw again, then down to her neck, her collarbone, the soft curve of one breath. "Okay," he murmurs, though it comes out more a hum than a word, muffled against her skin. "Anything, Gracie."

Almost as soon as he starts to move, Grace is torn between urging him on and saying she's changed her mind. She wants to keep kissing him, to keep feeling his hands moving over her skin, though it isn't as if she can complain about the way his lips feel as he traces lower. The only thing she's utterly sure of is that she wants more — this and anything else she can get, everything there is he can give. A hand curling in his hair, she runs the other along his side to his hip and up again, just to keep touching him, as if that might steady her somehow. "Anything," she echoes, "I just want you." The particulars of it are hard to care about at the moment.

Though there's nothing especially unusual about this, in spite of the circumstances, there's something remarkably heady about hearing her say that, a quiet sound catching in Jerry's throat as he works his way lower. Even having had far longer here together than they did back in Los Angeles, stealing an evening or a few hours in an afternoon whenever they could, he isn't sure he'll ever fully get used to this; he doesn't think he'd want to. It's better to have it remain this significant, her words echoing in his head as he trails down, drawing her nipple into his mouth. That he just wants her, too, goes without saying. It's all he's wanted for a long time.

Edited 2013-06-23 18:39 (UTC)

Grace sighs, head tipping back slightly, tightening her hold on his hand. He doesn't respond, but she doesn't care; she knows he heard her, she knows he feels the same. Nothing else really matters. There doesn't need to be a verbal response for her to understand, to hear his words in her head, the heady reminder that he loves her. Not doubting it mattered, but it wasn't nearly as nice as this, not just knowing how it sounds and feels to hear that, but having that freedom. She's bitten back the words too many times as it is. Now she just bites her lip, hips rocking gently against his.

Jerry has to stifle a groan when her hips press against his, too wound up for it not to get to him, but he stays where he is, at least for the moment, mouth still at her breast. Even when he couldn't have very much at all, he's never been able to get enough of her, and now is no exception. It just makes him want all the more to make this last, to give her exactly what she's asked for. Tongue dragging over her nipple as he draws back, he shifts lower over her, mouth trailing down over the smooth skin of her stomach, a hand sliding up as he does to cup her other breast.

Grace whimpers, breath catching in her throat, every press of his lips winding her up a little more. The anticipation gets to her almost as much as the feel of his mouth on her skin, the warm press of his palm. It's the best and the worst, really, the part where he's just about toying with her, when he's doing just enough to get to her but hasn't done much of anything at all. There's still sleep in her eyes, the room hazy, the nerves under her skin pulling sharp as she cants her legs a little further apart.

Pressing a kiss to her hip, Jerry shifts lower between her open legs, his free hand against the mattress to keep him steady. Right now, though he's rarely inclined to admit to something like that, he needs it badly, his head all but spinning. Badly as he wants her, it's so, so tempting to climb back over her again, but there's satisfaction just in giving her what she wants, and he has every intention of following through. Kissing up along the inside of her leg, he sucks at the soft skin of her thigh, gentle, but not caring about the chances of leaving any marks behind. There's no one else who'd see anymore, no one else who'd care, just the two of them.

Grace sighs, slipping her hand from his to run her fingers through his hair instead, gentle. There's no better way to wake up than this, unless it's to the sound of his saying he loves her. Though she's just about trembling with anticipation, she doesn't really want to rush him. There's something so nice even about this, the slow, lazy build-up, his lips warm on her skin, sending jolts of need right on up. "Jerry," she murmurs, letting her eyes fall shut. It's nice to watch him sometimes, but this morning, she thinks she'd rather relax and let him do what he will.

It's not as if Jerry really needs the encouragement. For one, positioned where he is, it's more than obvious how much she wants him, the fact of that alone as heady as ever when he considers fleetingly, once again, that he's the only person who gets to see her like this now. Still, he can't deny that it gets to him, the way she says his name and her hand in his hair. Easing just slightly higher, he presses a soft kiss against her, eyes falling shut as he begins slowly working his tongue into her.

Grace closes her eyes, sighing, fingers curling in the sheets. It feels as if every inch of her is being pulled inward to where his tongue meets her skin, straining for more. Right now, she has no intention, even so, of asking for more or urging him on, beyond the way her other hand continues to stroke gently through his hair, tracing along his shoulder. It feels good, and she still feels half-asleep, hazy and drifting, her body pleasantly warm, love for him tightening her chest. She doesn't need to put on the dramatics to let him know how much she likes what he's doing, and she loves him for that, too, that she doesn't need to pretend anything with him, letting the arch of her back speak for her.

Though he's still not all that awake himself, he's certainly enough so to do this, and do it right. There's no reason Jerry can think of to do anything less than that, not here with her. No matter how many other things he's been more than content to coast by regarding, this isn't one of them, least of all at a time like this. Tongue working slowly, carefully, he lets his eyes fall shut, thumb brushing over her nipple where his hand still cups her breast, the other against her hip like an anchor. It's not like he can get a very good look at her from here, and he doesn't need to. Just being able to feel the way she moves is enough, the way her body shifts speaking for itself.

Grace rolls her hips, arching deliberately up, against his tongue and into his fingers, breath catching at the way they press into her skin. Later, later, she'll return the favor, but for now, she doesn't have to do anything but lay here, enjoying the slide of his tongue against her and inside her, warm and slick, like lightning striking water. Arms stretching back over her head, she clutches at the pillow. "Fuck, Jerry," she sighs, "Jerry." She could float along like this indefinitely, she thinks, though she knows it's not true, that sooner or later things must come to a head. Still, right now, it's easy to imagine lingering like this forever, nothing quite real except for how he makes her feel.

It's absurdly gratifying, not to mention a turn-on in its own right, getting her to sound like this, the way his name falls from her lips. Jerry used to like that because it gave more meaning to everything, at least as far as he could tell, anything personal all the more significant when she was spending so much time with someone else. Now, it's more of a given, but that doesn't mean he likes it any less. Still moving slowly, but no less insistent for it, he trails his hand down to her hip, a faint sound rising up in his throat.

She can feel it, the soft sound he makes, the reverberations against her skin making her whimper. Grace has always liked this about him, how attentive he is, how much he cares about making sure she feels good. She likes everything about him right now, though, the slide of his tongue and the heat under her skin and the slight pressure of his fingers at her hip making her want that much more, until she has to remind herself to keep breathing. As badly as she wants even more, though, she won't say it. She doesn't want this to be over so soon.

Just that faint sound is enough to get under Jerry's skin, leave him wanting both to draw this out and to do far more than this. Much as he wants her, he's almost surprised that he's been able to hold out this long. Determined as he is to see her through to the end, though, to make it good for her, he isn't going to rush. He finds a middle ground instead, replacing his tongue with a finger, drawing back just enough to close his lips over her clit, sucking gently.

Grace arches her back, whimpering, and there's nothing else right now but him, closed eyes keeping out everything else but pinpoints of light and color and the way his mouth feels on her, the warmth enveloping her. "Jerry," she says, dry-mouthed and breathless, some of the languor leaving her now as she feels herself getting that much closer. If she has to wake up, this is the best possible way to do that.

He'd respond if he could, but right now, Jerry wouldn't pull away for it. He would much rather keep going, every sound she makes, every repetition of his name, making him want her all the more. While he can be plenty patient, he still can't hold out forever, and once he's seen her through to the end, he knows he's going to be half-desperate for her. All he can do, though, is keep going, sucking gently, sliding a second finger into her alongside the first.

Grace presses her tongue to her teeth, a faint drop of pain to temper the pleasure, torn between pursuing more and trying to hold off. The decision is easy, though, made without much thought, her hips working toward him. "Jerry," she says again, a plea this time. She can feel herself getting closer, the pressure and wanting so good it's nearly unbearable. "Harder, more."

He'd been planning on getting to that anyway, but there's something particularly gratifying about hearing her ask him to. Besides, right now, he doesn't think there's anything he could deny her. Without wasting a moment, he picks up speed a little, fingers thrusting harder into her with more intent now, thoughts of making this last quickly leaving him.

"Oh, fuck," Grace whimpers, fingers tightening in the sheets. She'd bet her knuckles are white just about now, but she doesn't care enough to look, biting her lip hard to keep from crying out. Between his mouth and his fingers, she sometimes thinks she might lose her mind, but she's hard pressed to care, giving up on the effort to keep quiet a moment later, not caring how much noise she makes. Already she can't help thinking ahead to having him inside her, to hearing him say he loves her again. "Jerry, I'm — please —"

It's more difficult than Jerry would care to admit to swallow a groan at the way she sounds, though he manages. Just listening to her makes him want her all the more, though, enough that it's nearly maddening, and all the more reason to give her what she wants. Sucking a little more insistently, he thrusts his fingers harder into her, the best he can do without being able to ask for any kind of clarity. It isn't as if there's all that much else he could do anyway.